


Paradise Lost

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, Implied Chip/Jeff, M/M, Past Colin/Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during IAG filming. Filming together again feels like old times, but it seems that some things have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 2012.
> 
> Not real. No offense intended to those portrayed herein.

Vegas; a non-stop swirl of colour and noise, where the power of luck is promoted and all good sense repressed. Deciding to film a new improvised television show at the MGM Grand guarantees an audience but, unfortunately, not sobriety. Still, it has been source of amusement to the group of improvisers, who congregate in the bar after the evening’s show and show no sign of leaving a few hours later. 

Ryan is sprawled in a rounded leather chair, cradling a glass of scotch against his chest—satisfyingly cool against his heated skin. His body thrums with the pleasant ache of a day’s work, the performance high having slowly drained and settled into a comfortable lethargy. He looks on as the rest of the group talk and laugh, deflecting attention to minimize his own involvement, content to quietly study and reflect.

Again and again, his attention is drawn to two people in particular; the familiarity, the closeness, the little touches and gestures that would probably not be noticed by anyone not paying such close attention. Ryan knows that being in such close quarters for months at a time during tours naturally invites intimacy and strengthens any bond, yet he can’t help but wonder.

“You guys are still touring together, right?” Chip asks, dazzling smile in place. He looks like he could go right back on stage; his only concession to this relaxed post-show drinking session is the unbuttoning of the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the beginnings of a broad chest. Jeff is perched casually on the arm of his chair.

“We are,” Brad grins easily, casting a mischievous glance at his touring partner seated beside him. “Colin couldn’t do it by himself. He needs me to be the funny one.”

Colin instantly adopts an expression of mock surprise. “You can be funny? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Hey, don’t forget that man who laughed so much at one of my lines that he had a heart attack.”

“Was that laughter?” Colin smirks, “Or the ultimate protest?”

It’s a familiar scene but with different players, Ryan sitting out. Amongst the smiles and laughter that follow, which Ryan dutifully joins in with, only Greg casts a glance his way, seemingly probing his reaction. Ryan doesn’t give him anything.

 

Later in the evening, after a mass exodus towards the bar for more drinks, Ryan looks up from the meagre remains of his scotch and is surprised to find that Brad has remained in his chair, his dark eyes trained on Ryan thoughtfully. He doesn’t seem at all fazed by being caught out, continuing his silent study.

Lifting his head fully, Ryan meets Brad’s gaze with bold defiance as a burst of laughter drifts across from the bar where the rest of the group is still huddled. Ryan’s eyes flit across to rest on Colin for a brief moment before returning to the man opposite.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Honest surprise transforms Brad’s pensive expression. “What?”

Ryan continues to watch him steadily. “It’s a simple enough question. Are you sleeping with Colin or not?”

“I’m married—“

“Cut the bullshit, Brad,” Ryan cuts across him, reaching for his cigarettes. “We’re all married; except Jeff, and he’s practically married to Chip. So…?”

Brad leans back in his chair and tilts his head contemplatively, drawing out the moment. “What makes you think that I am?”

Ryan shrugs, fitting a cigarette between his lips and withdrawing a silver lighter from his pocket. “You two seem very… close, these days.”

“Like you were once, you mean,” Brad finishes knowingly. 

There’s a trace of smugness about his tone that aggravates Ryan more than he’d like to admit. His hand clenches around the lighter. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Brad actually laughs out loud at this, causing Ryan’s head to snap up from his newly lit cigarette. 

“You’re a real piece of work, Ryan, you know that? You sleep with Colin when it suits you and then push him away again, twisting that knife a little deeper, and you’re worried about _me_ hurting him?”

Ryan’s expression hardens. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand all right,” Brad says, the amusement dying on his face. “You want to have your cake and eat it, and you object to anyone else having a nibble. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy; Colin’s not going to put up with your shit anymore. He’s moved on.”

“So you _are_ sleeping with him.”

Brad abruptly stands, placing his empty glass on the cluttered table. “No, I’m not. But if I was lucky enough to have Colin’s love, I wouldn’t trash it the way you did.” He stoops to grab his jacket. “Have a good night, Ryan.”

Blowing a slow stream of smoke to the brightly lit ceiling, Ryan watches Brad rejoin the others, watches Colin welcome him—Colin, the quiet core of the group; kind, undemanding, and loved by all. Ryan looks away, and presses his barely spent cigarette into the battered ash tray provided. 

He tells himself that Brad doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that he can’t possibly comprehend the intricacies of Ryan’s long-standing relationship with Colin, and perhaps there’s an element of truth in that. 

But when Ryan knocks on Colin’s door later that evening, as he always does, there’s no answer.


End file.
